


won't you torture someone else's sleep

by redeyedwrath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams, M/M, Pining Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: I love you, Derek thinks, but he doesn’t say it, just watches Stiles throw his head back in laughter that isn’t for him and never will be. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, Stiles will hear him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I’m back!!! Sorry for not posting anything in like three months, I had an exam week and then I was sick. So yeah, fun times woohoo!!! Anyway, I hope y’all like this lil thingy (that turned out longer than supposed to whoops).

_Won’t you go to someone else’s dreams_  
_Won’t you go to someone else’s head_  
 _Haven’t you taken enough from me_  
 _Won’t you torture someone else’s sleep_

**– Anathema, Twenty One Pilots**

**-**

He doesn’t mean for it to happen. Never meant for it to happen. Somewhere between being so focused on being a good Alpha and finding Boyd and Cora in the vault, it went wrong. So incredibly wrong. But he can’t do anything about it.

It’s tantalizing and frustrating, knowing he’s so close, knowing that Derek would only have to reach out and take, knowing that he’s not allowed to. He shifts in his chair in a half-hearted attempt to get rid of it, the pounding heart in his chest, the goosebumps running over his arms.

He’s not sure if he wants to.

There’s a nasty kind of desperation that comes with this, one he hasn’t felt in a long time. It scares him, claws at his heart when he least expects it. It feels like he can’t breathe, can’t sleep, can’t _think_ when Stiles isn’t there, but when he is, Derek only feels the weight of almost-certain rejection pressing down on him.

Stiles has never really looked at him, has always been just like one of those strangers that glance at the most important parts of him and briefly feel attraction before shutting it down. He’s felt a lot of that in his life and he wishes he could ignore it, wishes Stiles would look past all of him and see _him_.

He’s never - no one’s _ever_ done that, not for him.

Not Jennifer, not the one night stands from New York, and especially not Kate. People often smell like jealousy or envy around him – when they don’t stink of lust – and Derek wants to rip out their throats because all his ‘good looks’ have ever done for him is get his friends and family murdered.

“Are you okay, man?” Stiles asks, voice worried and eyes soft as he looks at Derek and all Derek can think about is how much he wants but doesn’t deserve. “You look wrecked.”

There are a million things that Derek could say to him, but none of them feel eloquent enough. He swallows down the words _You drive me insane_ , and glares instead, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “I’m fine, Stiles. Go home.”

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Stiles’ shoulders droop, pretends he doesn’t smell the way Stiles’ scent turns hurt and rejected, stops himself from reaching out and taking and never letting go, because Stiles deserves so much better than him. Could do so much better than him, six years older and broken in ways he’s not sure can be fixed.

“Okay,” Stiles says and joins Scott in the elevator. Derek takes out the scented candles and stares at them for a while. They feel heavy in his hands. He doesn’t want to give into it, purposefully picked out the foulest smelling ones because they’d surely cover up Stiles’ scent until it didn’t make Derek crazy.

He puts them back in the box and shoves it under the couch.

-

_Derek smiles up at Stiles as he leans over him, propped up on his elbows. There’s a soft smile on Stiles’ face and his eyes are alight with laughter and affection as he looks at Derek._

_It makes him breathless, stomach flipping and heart beating loudly in his chest, because Stiles is looking at him like he’s his world, like Derek’s the only thing that matters. It still baffles him sometimes, that Stiles loves him back after all this time._

_Stiles laughs when he tells him that. Tells him that they both needed to learn and Derek knows. He knows that Stiles was still hung up on others, even though Stiles was hung up on him and Derek had seen the way he looked at him back then, eyes filled with hunger and want. He knows, but it still hurts._

_Stiles cups Derek’s face in his hand, his long fingers stroking over the corner of his mouth before he presses a soft kiss to his lips. Derek smiles, and tries to press himself against him, tries to deepen it, but Stiles leans away and presses their foreheads together. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. Derek lets his eyes rove over him, his floppy nose, the fullness of his lips, the cupid’s bow that used to – and still does – drive him insane._

_“God,” Stiles whispers like he’s afraid to break the silence. “I can’t believe I get to have this. Get to have you.”_

_Derek pulls him down, crushing their chests together. He buries his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck and inhales sharply, tries not to cry._

_He’s waited so long to hear those words._

-

It’s a tug in his guts, a fucking magnetic pull that won’t leave him alone until he gives in and stares until he’s overstepped every boundary. He knows he shouldn’t look, knows it’s bad, knows he should torture himself like this, but his eyes can’t help but stray over to Stiles.

It’s painful. Stiles looks exactly the same – baggy clothes, lanky frame, big eyes and long fingers – but something’s different. Derek doesn’t know what it is, but it takes his breath away. He watches Stiles clench his hands in the sleeves of his jacket, watches them trail invisible patterns on his face and Derek can’t think about anything but how much he’d give to do just that.

There’s something about Stiles that makes Derek lose himself, makes him _want_ to lose himself. He loses all his inhibitions and stares unashamedly, learns Stiles’ schedule, makes a mental catalogue of every graphic t-shirt, listens to everything to everything Stiles has to say, talks louder so Stiles might just catch what he’s saying.

The hardest thing about all this is pretending he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care that Stiles is wearing the dark plaid shirt, he doesn’t care that Stiles is tapping incessant rhythms with his fingers, he doesn’t care that Stiles is smiling vibrantly, he doesn’t _care_.

(He does. Maybe a little too much.)

Someone snaps his fingers in front of his face, and Derek watches as Stiles stares at him, frowning. Derek has to suppress the ridiculous urge to smooth out the wrinkled skin between Stiles’ eyebrows and hold him forever. “Yo, Derek! You in there?”

It’s such a _Stiles_ statement, said in such a _Stiles_ way, and Derek doesn’t know what to do with himself. Worried tones covered up with sarcasm, sharp emotions eased with the bite of an ‘ _I don’t care_ ’ tone. Derek thinks that the worst thing might be that Stiles _does_ care, just not in the way Derek wants him to.

“I’m fine, just zoned out. What were you saying, Scott?”

“Right,” Scott says, shooting him a look. Derek refuses to look away. He knows he and Scott aren’t on the best terms, and that this probably isn’t helping matters, but he can’t - he can’t let Scott suspect anything. “As I was saying-”

Derek tunes him out, tries not to send Stiles a half-smile when he sees the way Stiles is watching him; a crease between his eyebrows and eyes worried. It makes him think, makes him _hope_ , that maybe Stiles - maybe Stiles thinks the same way about him.

_I love you_ , Derek thinks, but he doesn’t say it, just watches Stiles throw his head back in laughter that isn’t for him and never will be. _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, Stiles will hear him.

-

_They’re cleaning together, wiping down the windows and the floor. Derek’s doing all the work though, he can feel Stiles staring at him, can hear his heart beat-beat-beating in his chest, can smell Stiles’ interest. Normally, he’d jump at a chance to drag Stiles into the bedroom, but this needs to be done and he won’t let Stiles distract him._

_It’s probably a lost cause. Stiles turned out to be the only thing Derek can’t resist a long time ago._

_He jumps when something wet lands on his back, soaking his shirt with cold water. He turns around to glare at Stiles, who’s holding his hands up and his shoulders high, but Derek sees the warm twinkle that usually means nothing but trouble in his eyes._

_“Oops, now your shirt is wet,” Stiles says, voice faux-innocent. Derek narrows his eyes as Stiles approaches him. “You better take it off, you’ll catch a cold.”_

_Derek sighs. “Stiles, I’m a werewolf. I don’t get colds.”_

_Stiles smirks, looking up at Derek from under his lashes, eyes big and impossibly brown as he toys with the hem of Derek’s shirt, softly tugging it up. Derek’s heart skips a beat. He’s so fucking helpless. “Won’t you take it off for me? Pretty please?”_

_Derek rolls his eyes but takes his shirt off anyway, watching as Stiles’ lips jump from a pout to a smirk in seconds. Derek would accuse him of being the devil himself, but it’s an old complaint, one he’s used on a million occasions._

_He shivers when Stiles spider-walks his fingers up his chest, trailing over the grooves. He grits his teeth and tries not to grab Stiles so he can press him against the wall and ruin their newly-cleaned floor. He takes Stiles’ hand off his chest before Stiles can reach his nipples, and rubs his thumb over the side, smiling when Stiles shudders._

_“Come on,” he says, kissing Stiles softly. Stiles’ eyes are warm and soft and Derek’s breath catches. “We’ll never get anything done if we don’t keep cleaning.”_

-

He hasn’t seen Stiles in a week. He’s been purposefully ignoring him, because seeing him leaves Derek breathless and with the half-hearted urge to jump off a building somewhere and he knows it’s not healthy.

It’s just – Stiles is _pretty_. Stiles is so fucking pretty it hurts to look at him sometimes, upturned nose and obscene forearms and long fingers. Derek’s heart rate ticks up just thinking about it, about him. It’s never been like this before, all-consuming and overwhelming, like he wants it to destroy him. He thinks he’d gladly let Stiles destroy him, if it meant getting Stiles to hold his hand.

He’s making himself a sandwich when the door to his loft bang open, Stiles standing with a sure look in his face and Derek would swear he’s never felt more afraid. He brings the sandwich up to his mouth to ensure he doesn’t say anything stupid like _I’m in love with you and I want to hold your hand_. He almost chokes on his bite when Stiles rolls up his sleeves, his indecent fingers showing off those forearms.

“Derek, this is an intervention.” Stiles’ voice reminds Derek of the night in the pool; determined and fierce and it’s so similar to the first time Derek _noticed_ Stiles that his palms start sweating. He wipes them on his jeans and hopes Stiles doesn’t see it. He raises his eyebrows and keeps his mouth shut in a straight line.

“Oh come on, don’t raise your eyebrows at me. You totally know what I’m talking about.”

He frowns and turns his back to Stiles, walking over to his bed and sitting down on it. Somewhere he’s hoping Stiles will leave, but the bigger part of him is screaming at Stiles to _stay please stay please never leave me_. “Leave me alone, Stiles.”

“No way, man, you look like you haven’t slept in days. I- Scott- _we’re_ all worried about you,” Stiles says, trailing off as he fidgets with his thumbs. Derek doesn’t realize he’s staring until Stiles clears his throat, and by then it’s too late.

“I’m fine.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows and frantically gestures to Derek’s sitting form. Derek tries not to hunch over and fails miserably. “You don’t look fine.”

It’s quiet after that, mostly because Derek doesn’t really know what to say. He’s never been good with words, and he’s never been a good liar. A good pretender, maybe, but not a good liar. He doesn’t even _want_ to lie to Stiles, because Stiles deserves better than that, after all he’s unknowingly done for Derek. Build up and destroy – it seems like a routine by now.

The mattress dips as Stiles sits down next to him, making Derek slide a little closer until he can feel the heat of Stiles’ thigh against his. He’s so _close_ , Derek would just have to move his hand an inch and he’d be able to cross his pinky over Stiles’, he’d just have to turn his head to the side and he’d catch Stiles’ lips with his. It’s making him dizzy.

“Derek,” Stiles says, voice quiet and Derek can’t _not_ look at him anymore. “Tell me what’s happening. Please.”

Derek swallows. _Please_ , he thinks. Stiles said _please_ , eyes worried and the skin between his eyebrows crinkled and _Stiles said please_ , like he needs to know badly, like he cares about Derek this much. It’s enough to make Derek want to kiss him until they both suffocate. Instead, he drives his claws into his palms and places them on his thighs, evenly spaced out.

“I– I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

There. He’s said it. He can stop shaking now. Stiles makes a noise in his throat – soft, hurt, _understanding_ – and asks, “Do you get nightmares?”

“Sort of, I guess.”

It’s not even a lie. The dreams might be nice but they feel like nightmares when he wakes up with the idea of a warm body next to him and nothing but an empty loft to show for it.

“Me too.”

He doesn’t – he doesn’t even _know_ what to say to that. He bites down on the growl threatening to burst out from his throat and the urge to throw Stiles onto his bed and wrap him into his arms and protect him from everything that’s standing in his way.

“You know you can get sleeping pills to help, right?”

Derek feels like he’s about to cry and laugh at the same time. “I really don’t think that’s going to help much in this case, Stiles.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, looking down at his fingers as he flexes them a few times. Derek whines – high pitched, too high pitched for Stiles to hear and he’s suddenly very glad Scott isn’t with Stiles for once – and ignores the part of him begging to grab Stiles’ hand and never let go.

“Thanks, though.”

Stiles’ heartbeat picks up. Derek doesn’t know if it’s because of _him_ or because he said thanks. Probably the former: Stiles wouldn’t - he _wouldn’t_. “You’re welcome.”

“Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t judge, scout’s honor.”

“I know, Stiles.”

Derek had hoped he wouldn’t have to acknowledge it, the relentless, almost insane way he trusts Stiles. He wishes he could take some of the things he’s said, things that made Stiles doubt him, made Stiles fear him. It makes him feel sick, even though he knows it’s his own doing.

Stiles sends him a half-smile, cheek caving in as he walks towards the door. Derek lets him. He curls his long fingers around the frame and Derek has never felt more jealous of an inanimate object. “Bye, I guess.”

“Bye,” Derek says as he pretends his stomach isn’t sinking. He slides down the door once he closes it, back straight as he smashes his head against the wood. He knows this isn’t helping, knows he should probably send Stiles away, but – but he _can’t_.

-

_“Morning, sleepyhead.”_

_Derek rubs his eyes and blinks a few times, waiting until Stiles’ blurry outline gets clearly. He yawns and stretches at his stomach, trying not to grin when Stiles’ heart skips a beat. Stiles is leaning against the counter, hair messy and only in his underwear and Derek walks up to hug him._

_“Woah,” Stiles says as he runs a hand through Derek’s hair, the other drawing random patterns over Derek’s back. Derek buries his head in Stiles’ throat and relaxes. This feels safe and nice and Stiles is home and Derek loves him. “Why the cuddly mood?”_

_“Nothing,” he mumbles, voice muffled against Stiles’ neck. “I just love you.”_

_“Love you too,” Stiles says, pressing a kiss into Derek’s hair. Derek presses firmer against him. “Now let me go, I have coffee to make.”_

_Derek smiles and pulls back, ducking his head when Stiles tries to ruffle his hair and mess it up even more. Stiles rolls his eyes and walks over to the coffee maker, back turned to Derek as he presses a button. Derek takes the moment to lean back and wonder how the hell he got so lucky after all these years, to have Stiles as his._

_Stiles takes that moment to turn back and wink at him, wiggling his ass. Derek laughs, throwing his head back._

_God, he loves him so much._

_-_

He breaks when Stiles shows up unannounced in his loft again and makes him dinner. Derek’s been out all day – he’s been trying to find a job, _anything_ to keep his mind from wandering – and he walks into his apartment, shucks off his jacket and tries to pinpoint what’s different when he sniffs and it hits him. _Stiles_.

The loft absolutely reeks of Stiles in the best way possible, like Stiles has been living here for months and has rolled around everywhere. Derek has to ban that mental image before he shreds the wallpaper and scratches the floors in a hurry to get into the loft.

“Stiles?” he calls as he steps through the hole in the wall, hand clamping around the cold stone in an effort to not hunt Stiles down and pin him somewhere – _somewhere safe, with Derek, always with Derek_.

“I’m in the kitchen.”

That’s when the other smell hits him. Tomato soup with bread and cheese and Derek almost trips in his rush to get to the kitchen. Stiles just stands there, waving a wooden spoon around as he grins at Derek and _makes him food_. Derek doesn’t know if werewolves can get heart attacks, but he supposes it’s never too late to find out.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles says, voice bright as he turns back to the pan. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but Scott told me you were out looking for jobs and I know you haven’t been sleeping well lately so I thought, ‘ _Hey! Why not help our friendly neighborhood creeperwolf out and make him some dinner!_ ’ so, well, here I am. I can leave if you want me to.”

Stiles should leave probably, should leave and never come back because he has _no idea_ what’s he’s doing right now, so reminiscent of the last dream Derek had that he pinches himself to make sure he’s awake. He doesn’t want Stiles to leave though, and he swallows as he tries to get his bearings back.

“No,” he manages to choke out, and he jumps when he hears how hoarse his voice is. “No, it’s– it’s fine. You can stay.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Hale! I promise you won’t regret it.”

Stiles’ voice is light and teasing and he’s making _dinner_ and Derek’s heart hurts with how domestic this is, with how much he wants this and doesn’t want it to stop. Stiles hums something, tapping his feet as he stirs the soup, completely unaware of Derek’s staring. He can hear Stiles say _creeperwolf_ in his head, but he can’t stop.

He blinks when Stiles snaps his fingers in front of Derek’s face, smiling when Derek focuses on him. Derek feels like he’s dying. “You zoned out again. I asked if you could taste this for me?”

The only reason he notices the wooden spoon is because Stiles points it out, too busy to try and catalogue all the different shades of Stiles’ eyes in his head. Stiles smiles encouragingly and holds it up and Derek takes a sip just to distract himself, just to make sure his heart doesn’t burst out of his chest.

“Good?” Stiles asks when he’s done and Derek doesn’t trust himself to say something normal, so he just nods and watches as Stiles’ grin widens until he’s fucking _shining_ and then he’s turning back. Derek doesn’t notice his hand snapped up to catch Stiles’ until it’s too late, his fingers pressed awkwardly into Stiles’ palm. Stiles’ eyes are wide, lips parted as he stares at Derek.

“Stiles, I–“ he starts, but he can’t bring himself to say it, not when Stiles is standing in front of him, not like _this_. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Stiles says, voice soft as his cheeks flush, and Derek feels his breath catch when Stiles slides his palm into Derek’s, tangling their fingers together. Derek doesn’t – he doesn’t even – he _can’t_. He just stands there, staring at Stiles’ red face as he continues stirring the soup like he isn’t holding Derek’s hand. Derek resists the urge to pinch himself again.

“Okay, so I kind of need my hand right now? But I really don’t want to let go,” Stiles says, and Derek can practically _feel_ how hot Stiles’ face is as he holds up their joined hands. Derek squeezes softly, hoping it’ll encourage Stiles to keep talking. “Like ever. I– I don’t ever want to let go. Is– is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek chokes out. He’s not sure he’s still alive. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Cool,” Stiles says, and Derek can hear his heart pound as he lets go of Derek’s hand. He already misses the warmth of it, the already familiar weight, but he bites his lip and walks next to Stiles as he sets the soup down onto the table.

After all, he knows Stiles will hold his hand a lot more often.

**Author's Note:**

> Uuuuh, yeah. Have some angst??? I don’t know, I hope y’all enjoyed it, please let me know what you thought?
> 
>  
> 
> [Yooo I have a Tumblr!](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


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